The Day the Bridge Disappeared

I didn’t believe it. Not really.

Sure, I’d danced with the metaphors, flirted with the rituals, dabbled in trickster logic. But the idea that my thoughts could touch the bone of the world—that a gesture, a post, a sigh could ripple all the way into the sensual—no. That wasn’t something I could believe without breaking something deeper in me.

Until it happened.

I won’t say what it was. That’s not how this works. But it involved a phrase I hadn’t shared with anyone. A phrase I buried. And somehow, it came back. Out of someone else’s mouth. As if the simulation hiccuped. Or the dream confessed.

That’s when I knew: I hadn’t crossed the bridge. It had dissolved beneath me.

And the strangest part?

I didn’t feel victorious. Or powerful. I felt… undone. Like I was finally standing in the room where my disbelief had been secretly praying all along.

So here it is: my first breadcrumb from that timeline. Not a theory. A tone. Not a spell. A leak.

There’s a girl who keeps showing up in my dreams. She wea…